If Only I
by jordykid
Summary: AU from Dance With Somebody. Joe doesn't end up helping Quinn with her physical therapy, but someone does. Written because the story line on the show is ridiculous.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the first in what will probably be a 3 part fic, maybe 4. Because this situation fits them way too perfectly. This is also completely un-beta'd, so forgive me. I also have to give credit to Michelle for helping me navigate through my bumbling feelings for these two. PSA: I don't claim to know what kind of rehab goes into healing a compressed spine, and Finn probably wouldn't be able to help in the real world, but Glee suspended reality for the show, so you should for this fic too!**

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"Quinn's at physio. Oh, she refuses to have anyone around but doctors, you know how she can be…"

Finn usually makes a point of not interacting with Judy Fabray anymore. He dumped her daughter, and even if he and Quinn are in a friendlier place these days, the lady's death stare was a mean one—and there's no point in going out of your way to provoke it.

He's seen her some lately though, with visiting Quinn at the hospital after her accident and stuff, but they hadn't spoken really—he'd just talked to Quinn briefly a couple times about anything and everything that wasn't about cars, cell phones, or weddings. It'd been awkward, and this weird thing had happened to his chest every time he walked into her room for the first time and was greeted by that huge neck brace keeping her together—maybe it was a hospital thing to feel like an elephant was stepping on his heart (or a Quinn thing)—but it'd been worth it. At first, she'd been completely rude and he wanted to be mad at her for it, because seriously—but then he'd realized that if he suddenly had his legs basically cut off, he'd be pretty pissed too. So he gave her a pass, and their conversation had been easy.

(Just like always.)

These days she was back at school, and she'd missed a lot while in the hospital—there was no silver band around his left ring finger, and he and Rachel had this huge blowout fight about weddings and waiting, which had turned into a whole other thing about her waiting on him in general, since he'd been dragging his feet on picking a future. He'd been screamed out when they eventually collapsed tiredly, and it was unspoken that they weren't together anymore. They were still _something, _and it was still pretty fucking shitty to see her at school nowadays, but they weren't getting married and they definitely weren't going on dates. He pretty much stuck to Puck and Sam these days, so this news about Quinn being difficult made his ears perk up as he stood awkwardly in Aisle 4 of the supermarket with his mom as she chatted up Judy Fabray. They definitely had the weird mom vibe going, where they insisted on talking about everything they could think of, but his brain remained stuck on Quinn.

Her being difficult was nothing new—Quinn Fabray always dug her heels in and was stubborn as hell when it came to saving face. A wheelchair had never been part of the plan, and while he thought she was totally badass and owning it, Finn could definitely see why she had shut everyone else out of her therapy sessions. He could feel the sympathy creep up on him—he definitely understood having your whole life redirected like a nuke and being flung in totally uncool territory (like Russia—that place was _cold)_. It was an all too familiar feeling this year—everyone was always up in his business about graduating and what was gonna come after—and he _just didn't know. _Especially now without Rachel, who'd been his one steady thing lately. That was whole other issue, but whatever. He _did _know Quinn, and that's what made him ask Judy outright about Quinn's progress, although he felt he was pretty ninja about making her let slip when and where they were.

And walking into the hospital two days later at 3:30pm, he didn't feel bad about it at all. Dressed in his typical workout clothes—because it was called physical therapy, _hello_—he found the appropriate floor and place, spotting Quinn immediately. It had everything to do with the fact that she was dressed in tight sweats and a fitted tshirt, which let him see just how toned her arms had gotten with all this wheeling stuff. Everything else looked pretty sweet too, but unfortunately she didn't let him look too long—she'd seen him too, and immediately frowned, scrambling like she wanted to get away. Only she really couldn't.

That was a really shitty thought.

"Finn! What are you doing here? How do you even-?"

"I got it out of your mom. On accident, kinda, but not. I wanted to come," he cut her off, and she narrowed her eyes. Figured—she'd become fairly suspicious of people doing nice things for her lately, considering how she kept saying that she wanted to live her life and not be looked at _that_. "Look, I know you like, banned people from this, but I know that when you get all ultimatum-y," he sighed, smiling. "It definitely means you want the opposite thing, and you know you'd rather get out of this sooner than later. So I'm here to help!" He clapped his hands together enthusiastically. "Can't be worse than lying around by yourself in this stuffy place being completely quiet."

"I'm good to do whatever—I can play cheerleader, kick you in the ass if you need it. I like all the versions of Quinn, but if you want the old one back, let's do it."

The whole time, she'd been eyeing him skeptically, but something about his last sentence—he couldn't really remember it now, it had all kinda come tumbling out of his mouth, he tended to do that—had changed her mind, and she waved him over and introduced him to her doctor. He thought he caught a slight smile on her lips, too.

Everything was still fairly basic with her recovery, but after a few minutes of him bouncing on an abandoned medicine ball and talking the ear off of her and her therapist, Finn got to help with stretching her—he'd also turned bright red and looked everywhere but at her, for obvious reasons. His hand was like, 3 inches from her ass at one point, and he hadn't counted on that. Especially with her doctor _right there. _Eventually, he'd either gotten over himself or needed a distraction, so he'd started talking mindlessly again, and she'd finally talked back. Their conversation flowed, from glee assignments to him telling her all about how Wrath of the Titans had been totally worse than Clash when he saw it with Sam last week, and that one had been _really_ fucking bad besides Gemma Arterton's face—he found that this wasn't so awkward (there was still 3 inches there, he was safe) and he enjoyed helping her. After an hour, he was so comfortable that he couldn't resist a cheeky taunt during another stretch.

"You're totally glad I'm here, aren't you? You're getting a good stretch, huh?"

He wasn't exactly sure how to take the non-answer and her hand shoving his face away, but he laughed loudly and poked her when he saw the helpless (but genuine) smile on her face.

Weights were easier—he was absolutely familiar with this kind of training with football and basketball, and they worked mostly in silence as they lifted. He spotted her, watching her arms move fluidly, her face knotted in concentration. She was completely interesting when she got like this—so intense and driven, but _not _crazy. In the back of his head, he thought it was a little bit or a lot hot, but he didn't linger on that. But he did tell her about it. The first part, the driven part==not the hot part.

"I think it's pretty amazing, ya know," he said as he examined his choices of Gatorade from the vending machine down the hall. "Wait, do I want fruit punch or the blue kind, because I—" she punched the button for Cool Blue flavored electrolytes and looked up at him expectantly.

"You were saying?"

He smiled wryly, making a face at her.

"I _said_, I think you're being amazing with all this," he repeated, snatching his Gatorade from where it had fallen in the slot and quickly paying for a fruit punch one—there was no question, it was her favorite—and handing it to her. "Seriously. Like, sometimes I can't sleep, right? But there's nothing on at 3am, so I watch poker on ESPN. And those guys are so lame—like, all hoodies and sunglasses and no smiling—and they get so upset when they lose _one_ hand, even though they've got a trillion dollars in chips still. You'd think they'd be pretty stoked about all that money because at least they have that. It makes me think how you got dealt like, the _worst_stuff—either that or your just crap at life poker and keeping losing—but you're not pitching a fit or anything about it, like they are about money. Maybe you just don't want to let anyone see you do it, or whatever, but it still counts." He gave her a long look. "You just keep going. Fighting back. Most of those douchebags would've folded by now, and they never had to pop out a baby after Regionals or deal with all the drama you did. All they had to worry about was cards."

He wasn't sure when Quinn Fabray had seeped into his drowsy thoughts about poker late at night, but he didn't question it.

It was strange how seeing her like this, in a private moment where she was so completely at a disadvantage and yet unfazed, had made him instantly recall everything else about her in his head, like a movie. Beth, and the suddenness and terror of that. Her terrible father and unreliable mother. The Shelby shock this year, and the pink hair. Her whole issue with Puck. Prom Queen, and him, even, because he knew he'd been kind of rude to her last year in his haste to get Rachel back— _that_ thought made him super bitter, because really, that hadn't turned out so well and he _really_ didn't want to think about if it had been worth it. Quinn had always confused him, and probably always would in a way, but he realized now that admired her spirit more than anything else he could think of, and that definitely, somehow made her less of a mystery.

She was quiet after his little speech, and she didn't look at him while they wheeled/walked side by side back to the physio room for her bag, only offering a small 'thank you' and shrug. And he knew it, he just knew it—that he'd done the right thing in coming here, that she _did_ need someone to notice. Maybe she wasn't being public about her meltdowns—she never had, really—but that didn't mean that she wasn't on the verge of one (she was fucking _paralyzed_) and didn't need someone to pull her back and loosen her up. It probably wasn't ideal to her that it had been him, but they'd had a pretty good time, he thought. It was that particular thought that made him stop her before she could resituate herself in the front seat of Judy's Hyundai—yeah, Judy had looked pretty shocked to see him, but whatever. He was a ninja.

"Hey, so—should I come back? Again, to do this? Would you want me to?" He knew it was bad manners or whatever to invite yourself to things, but he didn't know if that protocol applied to the physical therapy of your ex-ex girlfriend who you were sort of friends with now. In typical Quinn fashion, she just arched an eyebrow and looked past him, at the hospital.

"Do you want to come? It'd just be more of the same—boring, really."

He knew a brush off when he heard one, but he just leaned down, his hand on the car door as he smiled and nodded slightly.

"Oh, I'll _be_ here. Prepare to do real work, Fabray. No slackin' now that I'm around. We're aiming for football shape." Mostly because that was all he knew how to do, so it was easy to say. But it worked, and she cracked another smile after hesitating and staring at him a bit, almost like she was trying to figure if he was serious or not. He was, and he threw her a knowing look before shutting the door and waving them off.

But there _wasn't_ any hesitation in her smile the next day, when he plopped down beside her, not Puck, at the lunch table where the Glee kids usually gathered. Rachel was giving him a weird look—so was Kurt, but his was a little less obvious—but he couldn't find any kind of regret in just _sitting down_ next to Quinn. Yesterday, something had finally changed—all year he'd felt so stuck, trying to latch onto something solid and it hadn't worked. And yeah, he still hadn't found that something, but he still _felt _different today, for whatever reason (Quinn)—so why not take that and run with it? He grinned instantly back at Quinn before chomping down on his burger, and though he still debated flavors of Fruit Roll-Ups with Sam and Mike, eventually, in between bites, he was drawn back to Quinn. Oddly enough, after the small bit of stupid jokes and small talk, they sort of fell into arguing about English class. It was whatever—Grapes of Wrath sucked as a book because the Dust Bowl totally sounded like something from college football season, and it really _wasn't—_maybe that was stupid to say, but he didn't regret it when Quinn rolled her eyes at him, still smiling gently before she pulled out her own copy and started explaining it to him.

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He went to every single session of hers for seven straight weeks, 3 times—sometimes 4—a week. For Finn, it was nice because it was something steady—he could always count on Quinn and her stretches and weights and 3:30 every afternoon. He'd never counted on actually enjoying himself, but he found that these appointments with her where they dealt with her _paralysis—_it was getting better, but whatever—were quickly becoming some of the best times he'd ever had with her.

Way back when they'd first been together, he'd always done this thing—counted her laughs—because Quinn Fabray didn't giggle for much. He prided himself on being the only person to actually make her cackle now and again—it was usually at his expense as freshmen, but whatever—but these days, he'd lost count of the times they'd both had to stop and wheeze, get their bearings back before her therapist could touch her and push her to the next position. It wasn't work at all to be there and hang out with her, and soon their good times were bleeding through to school. A duet in Glee, a math tutoring session in the library (okay, more than one), and she had become his new lunch buddy, as beside her was his new regular seat.

Almost instantly, they were friends, probably because there was no pressure. He didn't have to worry about getting the wrong shade of blue for his bowtie to match her, and she was too busy being grateful for his no-strings-attached help (or maybe it was that he didn't look at her different, he wasn't sure). They weren't Quarterback and Cheerio anymore-she couldn't walk and he had no future, so there was no use in the pretenses that had hung over their relationship so many times before. And that freedom totally suited them—he could make fun of her actually _sweating _and she could snap back that he was an oaf, but instead of a fight and disbelief, they'd somehow end up snorting in laughter as the insults got lamer.

Plus, he actually really liked helping her—the job of it. He'd learned a lot from just being around the place and the doctors and patients, and really, it made his problems seem a little bit less intimidating. If Quinn could maybe get her legs back one day, there was no reason he couldn't figure his own shit out. Eventually. If anything, he'd gotten a lot more comfortable with being unsure, and that's what made him ask after their latest Friday session.

"You wanna go get some food or something?"

Even if they were closer than before, there was still an unspoken line they didn't cross—they never spoke about their previous relationship and they _definitely_ didn't hang out without supervision. But Finn didn't really see the problem with going to get food—he was starving (their workouts got more strenuous and he often took the time to pack in a normal weight session for himself)—and it's not like the company would suddenly get bad. It was only around 3 seconds of dead air between them before she answered with a 'yeah, okay,' and he opted not to complicate things by reading into that, instead helping her into his truck and packing her chair in the back.

This wasn't a date—he was pretty sure you weren't allowed to have pit stains on those—so he had no issue or doubts driving them to a small diner on the outskirts of town that wasn't exactly Breadstix swanky. They sat elbow to elbow at a worn-in booth, neither needing a menu—this place served round-the-clock breakfast, so Quinn got a weird omelet thing with an extra side of bacon while he scoffed at her and ordered a short-stack of flapjacks. They were pretty much the only ones in the place so it wasn't long before their food slid onto the table in front of them, and the silence was comfortable as they both stuffed their faces and flirted with the idea of maybe using table manners.

For Finn, that meant trying really hard to chew with his mouth closed, which was about 60% successful, except for when his thoughts would wander and he forgot—like when he noticed Quinn had a really pretty mouth. Slamming the door on that thought train, he tried to talk about anything else. Unfortunately, the easiest and most common topic was graduation, which was quickly approaching, and Finn actually spoke the words aloud for the first time, thought, ever.

"I actually don't really know what I'm gonna do." He shrugged, embarrassed because there was really no getting around how true it was, first, and it wasn't an easy thing to admit when literally all of your friends had some kind of plan in place. Even if Puck's was to bang California cougars.

"What happened to New York, and acting—all that?" she says, not looking at him and instead picking at her eggs. That tells him it's a subtle way of asking about Rachel, but he doesn't mind. She hadn't been around for that, and he hadn't offered any information thus far—he was in an honest mood, so screw it.

"I thought I wanted to be an actor," he laughs now at the prospect. "I thought it'd be sweet, you know. Performing onstage like always, like Glee. But really, I figured if I just said it out loud, just _something _concrete, if I just told Rachel that yeah, we were gonna do it together," he trailed off and shrugged with a sad smile. "It would just happen, and maybe I could finally just stop thinking about next year and the future and everything else. I could wish it true, or something." He looked out the window, biting the inside of his cheek. It still sort of stung. "But it didn't help, at all. I mean, Rachel loved it, and she wanted to prep for all these auditions and teach me all this stuff and kept talking about proper etiquette and improving my stage presence," he ticked things off on his fingers. "And well, that just made it totally unappealing. Not because of her, but it's just-I can't picture myself actually doing it, every time I try. Performing all the time? Not being just me practically ever? No way. That's too complicated."

"And that sucked to realize, because all year I wanted to be sure about something, and it had to be _that_. Rachel was pretty quick on the uptake, and figured out that meant I was actually sure about not wanting to go to New York, which she took as me not wanting to be with her." He sighed. It figured, that the first bit of clarity he'd gotten would cost him his girlfriend.

"It _wasn't_ that at all, even if it made me feel like an asshole when she said it. But we didn't talk for like 2 weeks and then when we did, it was pretty easy to break it off. She wants it bad, more than she wants me. And that sucks, but it is what it is. I'm not going and she is." They'd considered long-distance but Finn knew her-as soon as she got to the city she'd be throwing herself into auditions, attending workshops, networking. Again, not exactly his cup of tea, which was why they were breaking up in the first place, and they knew it wouldn't be the same. He wouldn't fit in that life she would have, and she didn't fit in his.

"I get the worst though, because at least she has Broadway still. I'm stuck here." He rolled his eyes. He wasn't bitter. He _wasn't. _Even if he'd spent the last three years thinking Rachel was the right thing for him, only for the reality of it to blow up in his face. No big deal, he was just a life-long Lima loser in the making.

"I deferred Yale," she said quietly. He didn't quite know what that meant, but that lasted about 3 seconds before she went on. "My mom and I discussed it, and I'm not ready to go off on my own in a chair like this, even if I am supposedly getting better."

Finn's mouth twisted in a wince. Out of everyone, maybe the most impressive thing had been Quinn getting to Yale. That was a _smart _school, and he knew it was everything she wanted for herself. _Had_ wanted. What was worse was that he had no idea what to say to that. At least his future hadn't ever been plotted out—Quinn's had been specific and planned and ready to go as soon as she threw her cap in the air in May, but it had been snatched away from her. Jeez.

"I'm sorry. But, that doesn't mean it won't _ever _happen, right? It's just a year, and you'll be an even more impressive person when you write them to say that you beat _paralysis _and are now wanting to kick ass in school again." He shrugged one shoulder and tried for a reassuring smile, though only one half of his mouth quirked up. "You were in a huge bad accident like a couple months ago. These things take time to figure out and heal and stuff. You'll get it all one day, and it'll be awesome. I believe in you—everyone else does too. It'll happen." He nudged her elbow with his own and nodded, mock sternly.

He wasn't sure how well his 'speech' went over, because she just kept looking at him—like she was mapping his face, or trying to figure him out—so he just stared back, confused.

"So why aren't you taking your own advice then, hmm?" She finally spoke, sticking another bite of eggs in her mouth and giving him a cheeky look. It took him a second to get it, but he did. And then he rolled his eyes.

"It's the same thing at all."

"Maybe not," she replied, still with the same knowing tone. "But Finn, honestly. Just because your ex-girlfriend and couple of your friends are leaving with plans doesn't mean they're good plans. Or that they're right. It doesn't mean you're any less than they are. Sometimes these things take time," she quoted him. "You'll get it all one day. We all believe in you. So stop moping like a grump, and get out of your _own_ way."

He hated that she seemed to see all that so easily, and made a face at her, shaking his head. It was Quinn's way to be able to cut through all the bullshit and get straight to the core of you (probably because she'd been an expert at building the walls of masks herself), and she'd just laid it out, simple, for him. Ugh. "You know what? You're way less cute when you're right about stuff, so maybe stop," he quipped, throwing her a sarcastic smile.

She only laughed, heartily, cackling when he flicked a piece of bacon at her with a smile.

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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, my only excuse for the delay is that I've never done a multi-chap before and that I started a new job around when I first posted this story. Now, I'm well-adjusted and have a bit more time. I know the timeline of all of this is skewy, because Quinn's walking and prom wouldn't line up no matter how much Glee wanted us to believe so, but please just suspend belief with me, okay? Let's just pretend Quinn's accident happened earlier this year, or something. It's again, completely unbeta'd, but I hope you like it! ** EDIT: THIS IS A DRAFT I JUST WANTED TO GET IT UP TONIGHT I'LL BE BACK TO CORRECT MISTAKES TOMORROW ****

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"Quinn, stop stalling. You know you want to."

Finn doesn't know why she doesn't just do it. Well, he does, but in the last few months in which they've spent most days together, he's seen her do everything else. Of course, it's easy for him to have all the confidence in the world. She struggles a bit more with that-the confidence thing.

"You can do this. It'll be easy after the first time."

They're at PT, again, as is their routine. Finn has fallen into a quasi-physician's helper role, but really he's turned the table on Quinn and become her cheerleader-he doesn't think she's ever had one of those before. And because of that, but he finally won Dr. Herndon over. It took awhile, but when the guy saw Finn ease Quinn through the hours of therapy by putting a smile on her face, the actual webpages he'd printed out after he'd Googled 'How to Be Encouraging,' and how he'd held Quinn while she cried after taking her (second) first steps, well. Finn had seen the change in the doc, and was grateful for it-it was way easier to invade PT sessions when the doctor wasn't clearly wishing you weren't.

"You've done this before. You can do it again."

It's been awesome, witnessing her progress. He's never been prouder of her, and these are times when he's seen her sweaty, pissed, and crying (the ugly kind). The day she stood was so huge, he thought his heart would burst the moment she let go of his hand, and ever since, they'd been working toward this moment, right here.

"Quinn, just take a step. It can be super tiny, just move. You'll be fine, and I'll just sit here because you won't need catching."

He's sitting, legs spread in a giant V in front of her, dressed in his usual gym shorts and white tshirt, looking up at her expectantly while she holds onto the balance bars she loves so much-so much that she won't let go. Really, he shouldn't be sitting here at all, since he's right in her fall zone, but he didn't feel like moving and instead told her it's more motivation for her to stay upright, given that she wrinkled her nose at the prospect of falling on him.

Now she just needs to do it, after 30 minutes of practicing standing on her own and with the bars. Her doc's cleared her to try and weirdly enough, he's sorta just sat back and let Finn take over the encouraging reigns here-and the 18 year old wants results.

"Q, seriously."

He thinks she just does it to shut him up, because of the exasperated huff she lets out, but he doesn't care-his eyes are wide as he watches her left leg lift slightly and move the tiniest bit forward. A slow, stupid grin is spreading on his face as she does all this and he doesn't actually cheer for this particular conquest-his voice is softer as he chants "c'mon Quinn, c'mon Quinn, go go go go go!" He watches her let go of the bar, watches her shift her weight, and for a half-second, she's done it-taken a step. His arms lift in a cheer, finally, but that's quickly swallowed as they both curse and she collapses. "Quinn, shit-!"

His fingers dig into her ribs in an attempt to catch her as she falls on him but all it does really is give him a second more to back up and try and get out of the way, which doesn't work anyway (the floor is kinda there). She's not heavy, and yet the force of her knocks the wind from him-but because he basically brought this on himself by sitting here despite her protests, he tries to hold in the groan (it doesn't work).

"Oh God, are you okay?"

It takes him a second to realize that her body is pressed to his in a really nice way-back when they were together, they always made out with her on top of him, and it felt just as nice then as it does now. So her question waits a moment before he looks her in the face, which suddenly is the closest it's been in a year. All he can do is nod and swallow, and _what is wrong with him_ because seriously, they're both sweaty and gross and this is the last thing he expected.

But yeah, he _is _looking at her mouth, and he knows she sees him, which makes him blush. It isn't lost on him that she hasn't moved either, which could mean a billion different things-she _is _still paralyzed, he remembers-but she couldn've rolled away or something if she really wanted to. They stare at each other for longer than five seconds before she does a really fucking stupid thing and bites her lip.

He doesn't kiss her.

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A few days later and Finn's not actually at the hospital-for once, he's at work. He does still have a job working for Burt, and to be honest, he's glad for it, especially now. Whatever the hell that was with Quinn after she'd walked for the first time wouldn't leave his brain, despite them sharing two more sessions together (as awkward as they'd been). He'd taken to researching brains overheating, if that was even possible-he'd been turning their moment over in his head so much-which was why recently it was that much nicer to get back between the lifts and tools and concentrate on the steel and oil.

They're a nice distraction from the constant thoughts about Quinn, especially the pesky R rated ones that are creeping up more and more.

Of course, nothing goes his way for too long, and his back visibly stiffens when he hears it, the loud, brash squawk of one Santana Lopez. What the hell was she even doing here, anyway?

"Hudson! What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Burt gives him a steely glare-Finn didn't even know the guy was capable of those-and Finn wilts under it, knowing it looks bad to customers when people curse you out. That's obvious, which is why he flees quickly out back, knowing that Lopez is one angry rhino and he's gonna need plenty of space to deal with that.

"Jesus, Santana. You can't just say stuff like that, I work here. Like, really work-my stepdad is still gonna kick my ass."

That's a moot point, as is most of what he says to Santana, who right now waves him off and just continues with her temporarily-paused rant-she just unleashes on him.

"Seriously, when someone gives you an in, however stupid that choice may be, you need to take it because I honestly don't know how many more shots you're going to get, given that you'll be Man Boobs Magee in coveralls for the rest of your life."

His face goes bright red, because okay, maybe he isn't one of those who's heading off to New York or Chicago with scholarships (and he's gotten to the point where he's genuinely happy for Rachel, he really is). But that doesn't mean that he can't still be somebody, and last he checked, he was still pretty damn important to some people already. Like Burt, here at the shop. His mom. Quinn.

Quinn.

"What even are you talking about?" He squints, but he already knows the answer, and he doesn't really care what she says because his mind is busy wondering what Quinn must've told the dragon-breathing Cheerio in front of him to get her here.

"Quinn, you moron. I know what you did-or rather, you didn't, because you were too chicken shit."

Yeah, okay, so the understanding is soundly slapping him in the face now like when he went tubing on the lake that one time, fell off and the rough water wouldn't let him catch his breath.

"But listen, I swear to God, if you hurt her again, I will end you. Publicly."

Nope, he's back to confusion.

"She's been through enough bullshit and hardship in her life to have Finn fucking Hudson come along and screw her head all up. She was in a really bad place." Finn thinks if he tries a little harder, he can hear a slight softening in her voice. "And she was getting better-_despite_ you guys hanging out every day. But whatever, you must've been doing _something _to make her happy, and I need you to get your head out of your ass and go back to that. Be straight with her, and get out of her way, whatever that means for you two."

Finn's head had ducked low during her tirade-he was numb to the insults at this point, but mostly he was thinking about Quinn, and what that moment on the floor between the parallel bars had meant for him, since it clearly had meant something to her. Santana apparently wasn't sticking around for him to speak, but he called out anyway-he had to.

"Wait, 'be straight with her?' 'Get out of her way?' What's-I tell her everything, now. I don't-that doesn't make sense."

She just shakes her head like he's stupid-such a surprise-before grabbing a wrench and pointing it at him for a second. Once he gets over the initial panic and realizes she's not actually going to like, _smack _him, or anything, he pays attention again.

"You're supposed to a mechanic, Hudson. Earn your pay, and _fix your signals."_

This is one metaphor Finn has no trouble figuring out, but that doesn't mean he doesn't spend the rest of the night tossing a tennis ball at his ceiling as his thoughts are all Quinn, Quinn, Quinn.

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Just because they almost kissed didn't mean he'd stopped showing up. Hell no, he wasn't going to be the one to crack, even if the surprise attack by Santana (who he'd decided could totally be a future Bond villain) had him thinking about things. Really, now that he _knew _something was up, it just made him that much more determined to analyze and reanalyze what was actually going on between him and Quinn, which meant spending more time with her.

Point blank, it was getting harder and harder to deny that he liked her.

How the hell that had happened (again) was baffling to him, but now as he snuck glances at her during this latest version of their traditional diner visits on Fridays, he could feel himself blushing and his stomach flipping like freshman year done over. They were sitting elbow to elbow this time, and he wondered if that was because they both didn't want to look at each other-her session was awkward enough with him helping steady her learning legs-touching her was _completely_ different now (again).

He was antsy, and in a mental war with his leg, trying to get it to stop jiggling like it was-she'd know something was up with him if she saw that, but if he knew Quinn Fabray at all (and he _did)_, then she'd already picked up on it. But that just wasn't okay-he was _not _gonna be the one confronted on all of this, the one backed into a corner, not when it was her who had just _laid _on top of him like that, and started hurtling his all thoughts lightyears back into Quinn space that hadn't been explored (in two years).

"So why'd you set the dogs on me?" he asked, his eyes firmly glued on his plate as he pushed the remainder of his pancakes around. That was only for a moment though, because courage found him and he looked up to lock his gaze with hers, in what he hoped was a confident-but-cool way. "And by dogs, I actually mean the Spanish ones dressed in Cheerios outfits."

The blush spread slowly on Quinn's face, but Finn was more curious about the shock part of it all-Quinn obviously had no idea her bestie had taken it upon herself to tear him a new one, which meant...it meant that she probably had no intention of ever saying anything to him, which was way more interesting than his original assumption that she was pissed at him-it didn't look that way at all, now. The strained panic in her voice confirmed that.

"Oh god, what did she do? This is ridiculous, I can't believe-"

"She told me I was an ass for not kissing you," he interrupts, not knowing why he suddenly felt much more at ease with this situation, but he did. Maybe it was because she looked more embarrassed than he felt, and Quinn was never embarrassed. She also almost never was speechless, but she was right now, stunned by his honesty. Then she sighed, and he raised an eyebrow at her.

His lips pursed curiously, and he certainly wasn't having a problem looking at her now, expectantly.

"Finn, I'm sorry. She had no right, I don't know why she thought-that was," she paused, and he's kinda smiling-he couldn't remember a time where she was flustered like this, except maybe when he first asked her to see War of the Worlds with him for their first date as fifteen year olds. Only he frowned at her next words.

"It's not like you would, honestly-why _would _you? Your face is at least 3 stories above mine now, you'd have to break your back in half to get down to me in my chair, and that's just-"

She was babbling, and he didn't like it-didn't like it at all-because the stuff she was saying was actually total bullshit. It wasn't LACK of want that had made him stop the other day, and he wanted it plenty when he did what he did next, his hand cupping the side of her face to turn her. She squeaked, but his lips pressed up against hers insistently and she gave almost immediately. Finn smiled, because it was a really sweet kiss, with her hand on his leg now and his still cupping her face. Their lips drew slowly from each other, gently, in a sort of 'hey what's up, did you miss this like I did' way as their mouths got to know each again. He didn't let her pull away-he's the one to do that-and when he did, he pressed another quick peck just above her eyebrow before turning back to his pancakes like they did this kissing stuff every day.

She's still a really fucking good kisser.

Her stare is on him, so it's only a few seconds before he gives and looks back at her, popping a bite in his mouth as the corner of his lips quirks up-he knows he surprised her good. "I wanted to kiss you. You think that because you're a little lower coming up to my shoulder now that you stop being Quinn? That all those good times we've had lately don't actually exist? Because they happened, and you-you look like Quinn, you give me that look, that one you're giving me right now, like Quinn, you talk like Quinn. You're Quinn," he says simply, shrugging. "Which means-" He blows out a breath. "Which means I don't stop liking you." He gives her a look. "I mean, you definitely still kiss like Quinn."

He'd meant it as a joke, only not, because he's definitely experiencing some flashbacks to those times on her couch when she'd drive him into a frenzy with just her tongue, but it didn't matter because she was just staring at him incredulously anyway. It freaked him out a little, and when she didn't say anything-literally anything-for the next five minutes, he decided his confessing like that was possibly the worst idea ever and he needed to bail.

Problem was, he'd driven her here, so even after he'd paid their joint check-they did that now, and took turns paying-and gotten outside, she was still there, and he was still helping her out of the chair and into the cab of his truck. It was to the point where her silence had him thinking his spit was carrying some sort of zombie virus or something that had turned her, and she was going to turn someone else and so maybe he was about to murder all of mankind, like in that movie Contagion. And he definitely couldn't just put the keys in the ignition with all that riding on _one_ kiss.

"Quinn, seriously. You're freaking me out, you need to talk. Say ANYTHING, just so we know you're still human and with us and everything. You're never this quiet unless you're super pissed or sad and I just-"

It's deja vu reversed, because she wasn't actually speaking, like he asked-she was kissing. Him, to be exact. She'd leaned over and planted her mouth on his, cutting him off, but not so much that he didn't know what was happening because he was absolutely kissing her back, his hands on her face to draw her closer to him. She was definitely human, and definitely a girl-definitely _Quinn_-because he could feel himself start to get hot when her tongue pushed into his mouth and suddenly it wasn't not a kiss anymore. They were making out, all hands and lips and hair tugs-stuff that was maybe inappropriate for a diner booth, but in the confines of his truck, it's a whole other ballgame.

It'd been a long time since he'd kissed anyone, much less kissed Quinn, but he remembered instantly-stuff like how she likes his hand in her hair, and he maybe enjoyed it a little too much when she made a (pleased) noise as his other hand glided up to cup her face and take control. This was all so awesome that he didn't really want to stop and question it, because _Quinn is kissing him_ and right now it was all he could do to match her fervor and keep his hips from joining the party and possibly scaring her off. It did lurk in the back of his head though, how suddenly the switch flipped. But that's how it was with him and Quinn, he realized.

He just knows, just like he knew her then, and DEFINITELY knows her now.

He'd always sort of forced his way into the intimate parts of her life, which he realized are actually the _worst _ones, even when she didn't want him there. But it had been worth it, because _that_ girl-the one who he rode through all that angst with-that's the girl he wants to make out with no-w-the one who got his McGeeGee, Lucy, the girl who cried after her first second steps. She's awesome in a way he never intended or had expected to see, which was probably why her mouth felt so good on his right now, and why he was thinking about if it was tulips or orchids she liked so much because he should definitely look into getting her some to impress her with his much-improved romance skills.

For some reason, his need to tell her all that outweighed the heat between them, which should've been impossible, considering her hands were under his shirt now and pressing against his skin in a really, kind of a delicious way.

"OKAY, I'm not-we should, _hang on_," he sputtered, both of his hands gently pulling their faces apart. They just sat there and breathed for a minute, which was actually good because Finn's pretty sure he needs a second to gather himself. Fuck, she seemed to have no idea, and that just drove him wilder. "You still do that thing-" he gestured wildly, awkwardly. "That thing that just..." Licking his lips, he trailed off, an incredulous, playfully exasperated smile instead taking over. That 'thing' that just overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn't even compliment her right, apparently.

And then his brain just completely short circuits or something because what comes out of his mouth is _not _what they'd talked about in his head a few minutes ago.

"Do you wanna go to prom with me?"

He was still holding her face, and he really, really wanted to kiss the shock off of it right now, but he settled for brushing her hair back gently-he'd gotten a little carried away with her shorter locks and it was all messy and flyaway, but he liked it. And anyway, it was too late to back out now, but it wasn't like he hadn't meant the question, he realized.

"Seriously. Let's go, you and me. _NOT_ like last year-we'll just go and take pictures and hang out and dance. We _will _dance," he gave her a stern look, like he knew her face would fall like it just had. "And I might try and make out with you a little, depending. Only if you dance with me though." He was smiling at his tease but she was shaking her head and fighting a similar smile, all the while pulling away from him and returning to her side of the truck.

He missed her on top of him, but that was neither here nor there.

"Finn, I'm not going. You know I can't dance-I can barely stand-and I'd just be in the way. Trust me, I've thought about it and accepted it. You don't have to say-"

She's saying so many dumb things today, and he found that he preferred her kissing him, which was why he didn't feel bad about cutting her off. Again.

"Only you _are _going, with me. I want you to, and you're the one who jumped me just now-don't even, you know you started that," he waves her off. "It was awesome, but you had to know I'd notice. That, plus your best friend Lion Lady Santana, pretty much tells me all I need to know and what I _know _is that you're at least a little on board here. You 'can't dance?' I'll hold you, or squat down, if you want."

His voice softened, he sighed and slid over-it was his turn to crowd her and get in her space, although he could tell that just like him, she was playing hard to get but really, she didn't mind. Maybe two years ago he would've fallen for this schtick-the defensive firmness that used to scare him into submission. But not now, and she can't hide the fact that she wants to be normal-_he _thinks she is, but she needs to feel it-especially since he'd witnessed firsthand how hard she was working to achieve it. And prom had been huge to her, even before that stupid fucking truck came and hit her.

She wasn't looking at him right now, and that was fine. He waited patiently, not moving or giving her room to breathe-he knew if he did, she'd regain her nerve and say no again. He could practically see her mind going in overdrive as she overanalyzed this, but the truth was, he wanted to go with her because he figured they'd have fun, she was gorgeous, and he wanted to prove he was that guy who could be a good prom date to the girl he was into. Pity had never registered in his brain, and finally, it seemed, she realized that.

When she murmured 'okay,' and that they were _so _not wearing baby blue again because 'ugh, memories,' a huge, stupid smile split his face and he kissed her again to seal the deal.

Nervous anticipation and butterflies started to flutter in his stomach. He and Quinn were SOMETHING-and he couldn't say what, exactly, yet, which was probably why he felt the best about them that he ever had. He had a prom date, and a hot girl kissing him, but he realized then that the best part about all of this was that he could feel her smile against his lips, that one she'd been fighting so hard to hide, because he'd made her do it. Because it meant that she was just as psyched about this as he was.

There's no way he's wearing another bowtie though.


End file.
